Static Shock
by Ariem
Summary: Every effort will be needed to win this war, every opportunity taken and exploited. Nick Fury knows it. That's why when the Avengers Initiative is restarted, he decides to contact a man he has history with. My attempt at writing an OC into the film.
1. Recruitment

**Good day! I'm really uploading this to make myself to finish it - I'm really rather bad at self-motivation =/**

**Do tell me if you enjoyed it though, I haven't decided upon how much the film's story will change. It's likely only to be small tweaks.  
**

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The woman walked through the squalid streets, the cold, pollution- laden gusts of wind making her wounds sting and her eyes narrow. She stepped around a puddle, half filled with waterlogged rubbish, and shook her head. '_Why would anyone choose to live here? Especially someone who could have so much better?' _she wondered. It was incomprehensible to her, especially now that she was used to the sterile facilities of S.H.I.E.L.D.

The grey, roiling sky had given way to a misty drizzle, and the tops of the skyscrapers were wreathed in wispy cloud. Agent Maria Hill checked her directions, then splashed along the alleyway some way before ducking into a doorway, pushing open the rusty steel door with a scrape of metal on concrete. Wincing a little, she made her way inside into the basement of what was once a block of flats – a bare, concrete car park. It seemed now lifeless and deserted, but she could see by the filthy blankets and newspapers lying along the walls that it had once been a squat of some sort. She cleared her throat, loudly. The air was still, apart from the slow drip and trickle of water.

"Come for me?" said a male voice, resignedly. Agent Hill's eyes widened slightly, a jolt of surprise breaking through her schooled features. _'He sounds surprisingly young'_ she thought, before she regained control.

"My superior would like to speak with you. We have a proposition," she said, after a moments' pause.

"And why would I want to speak to Nick Fury?" asked the voice. Some reaction must have shown on her features, for he continued, "Oh, I can tell a S.H.I.E.L.D agent a mile away, even in civvies." She squinted, trying to make out where it was he was. His voice echoed around the car park making it hard to pin down his location. The only illumination came from the doorway behind her, casting long shadows from the thick pillars which disappeared into a pool of blackness at the far end of the room.

"Just hear us out," she said. "There's evidence of-"

"I don't want Fury to blackmail me into doing his dirty work!" he said, raising his voice. At this, a shadow stirred at the back of the room. Hill could just make out the silhouette of a man, leaning against the back wall.

"No blackmail, no coercion, nothing," she promised. "Mr. Fury wouldn't be doing this if he didn't feel he needed you, and if you come with us he can tell you all about it."

"You tell me. Here and now. I'm not meeting that bastard again if I can't help it."

"You know I can't do that."

"Then I can't help you."

She took a deep breath. "However, I can give you a general idea. At great risk to my current employment prospects, of course."

"I'd appreciate it."

"War with demigod race over ancient artefact, Earth in danger. Succinct enough?"

There was silence for a few moments. "Indeed. If you don't mind, I'll need some time to think about this."

"Of course. There's more though. A little bit, at any rate."

"I'm intrigued. Do go on."

She smiled. "It's not that exciting. The scheme you're being invited to is made up of people with... talents. Talents we're all going to need if we're to survive."

"Talents like mine?"

"More or less. Talents natural or supernatural; it doesn't matter. As long as they're useful."

"Useful?" She could hear the amusement in his voice. "I wouldn't exactly call my 'talent', as you call it, useful."

"That's not my call to make," she said firmly. "Mr Fury thinks you're useful, I'm just the messenger."

"That's true enough," he said, letting out a long breath.

She checked the luminous face of her watch. "Okay, I'm going to take a taxi back to the airport. If you're not there in half an hour's time, that's it. No second chances."

There was a chuckle. "Ahh, how I've missed S.H.I.E.L.D. My life hasn't been the same without a generous helping of tough guy clichés. Don't worry, I don't usually take long to make up my mind."

Hill turned to go, her footsteps echoing in the empty space. She paused at the door. "I'm putting my ass on the line here, so I'd like to keep this quiet. I'm sure you appreciate that."

"I do appreciate it. Especially the part about your ass."

She rolled her eyes. "Just don't spread this."

"Of course. I wasn't born yesterday, Ms Hill."

Mr Lynch waited until he heard the squeal of the door closing, then put his head in his hands with a groan. His anger at Nick Fury still burned bright in the front of his mind, vying to take control. He gritted his teeth, forcing the dull metallic burn to the back of his mind. It wasn't a fact he liked to remember, but it was true; Matthew Lynch had felt the happiest, the most fulfilled when he had been helping people, when he felt like he had made a difference.  
Nick Fury was a whole different story. It would be best if Lynch could keep out of his way, for the wellbeing of both of them. However much he raged against it though, in the back of Lynch's mind, his decision was already made.

The whole meeting had taken less than five minutes, yet she still felt drained. The S.H.I.E.L.D jeep went over a bump, jolting her out of her reverie. She rubbed her eyes, staring out of the window at the grey, rolling countryside flickering by. She felt a feeling of slight emptiness and loneliness, a feeling she'd noticed more since he'd joined S.H.I.E.L.D. It was almost natural maybe, with such an organisation that was by definition as secretive as hers. She glanced forwards – the tight-lipped driver stared back, icy eyes fixed on her in the rear view mirror. The soldier in the passenger seat was somehow also managing to glare at her, from the reflection in the windscreen. No welcome there, obviously. She rested her head on the window and closed her eyes, letting the gentle vibrations lull her into a shallow sleep.

Twenty minutes later, feeling more exhausted than before, she watched as hedgerows gave way to dual carriageways and roundabouts as the jeep wound its way towards the terminal. It slowed to a stop in the mostly deserted taxi rank, the soldier vaulting from the passenger side into the spitting rain. Hill got out more sedately, making her way over the pedestrian crossing with the soldier on her heels. She passed the line of bus stops, then-

"That's some taxi."

She whirled around, the soldier going for his pistol beneath his jacket. "It's OK," she said to the soldier, who didn't relax his death grip on the butt of his gun. Lynch stood up from one of the bus shelters and approached them slowly, giving her a first chance to get a look at him. She raised an eyebrow, surprised – he looked almost exactly like she imagined a stereotypical hobo to look.

"The job's got its perks," she said, forcing herself to relax. "You were right, you didn't take long to decide."

"I know." He stuck out his hand, lowering it slightly for her comparative height deficiency. "Even though we already know who we are, I think we should do it the formal way. Matthew Lynch, pleased to meet you."

They shook. "Likewise," she said, leading the way into the airport. "I read your file, and don't remember looking so..." she paused, trying to find a word that wouldn't offend, "-emaciated."

"Emaciated!" He laughed, running his hand through his long hair, evidently trying to straighten out some of the tangles. "I'm not emaciated. Thin maybe, but not emaciated. That implies I'm going to keel over and die any time now." His hand got stuck, so he gave up.

"I do hope not," she said, checking her watch again.

"You tell me, you read my file. Must have taken you a while. No doubt your lot kept me under surveillance, so you probably know the state of my health better than I do."

"At S.H.I.E.L.D, they're not very fond of report writing," she said perfunctorily.

He sucked in a breath in mock shock, inadvertently emphasising his sunken cheeks. "Huh, and there was I thinking Fury would want to remind himself in intimate detail how he stabbed me in the back. You learn new things everyday."

They stepped out through the doors, having been ushered past the lines of tourists at security by a nervous-looking official. The wind whipped their words away, and for a time they were too busy holding onto their coats to speak. The soldier and driver from the jeep hurried them along the tarmac towards a small jet which had just taxied in. As they approached, the door opened and stairs were unfolded, clanging to the ground just as Lynch and Hill arrived. Lynch made his way up the stairs and through the door into the plane – here, Hill had to bite back a smirk, as he almost had to bend double to fit inside. She on the other hand only had to bow her head.

"Bloody planes," he complained, making his way down the aisle.

"Sit anywhere," Hill said, picking up the bag that was waiting for her in an open luggage compartment and fishing out some paperwork. He shrugged out of his dark trenchcoat – Hill thought it might have once been brown, but it was too stained with dirt and age to tell – and sat down. She dropped the files into his lap. "This is the team you'll be working with. Director Fury will be able to tell you your role in the team. Until we arrive, I suggest you study their profiles."

"Iron Man, Thor, Black Widow, Hulk, Captain America. Not a bad haul," he muttered. "Captain America? Isn't he a bit old for this stuff? I thought he'd be enjoying a nice quiet retirement in Greece somewhere by now," he said to Hill.

She rolled her eyes, not even looking up from her papers. "Read the file."

"Okay, okay."

The plane journey continued in this vein, Matt skimming the thick file over the next hour and a half. The 'Fasten Seatbelts' sign flicked on and the plane nosed down through the clouds just as he finished reading about Black Widow and Hawkeye's mission in Budapest. He closed the file with a snap and stared out of the window at the glittering sea, trying to suppress a feeling of trepidation. He simply couldn't get rid of the feeling that he was jumping from the pan straight into the fire.


	2. Arrival

**A/N: Oh dear. I fear I've confirmed myself as an unreliable and dilatory updater... To those people who fav'd/review'd/alerted, I thank you, it really made my day, and I most humbly beg your forgiveness.**

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The plane touched down on the strip with a jolt and a squeal of tyres. Hill had already unbuckled herself and stowed the paperwork away. Matt handed her the file, then looked out of the window as the plane taxied round. Behind the small terminal building was the massive silhouette of-

"-an aircraft carrier?" asked Matt. "You guys don't do things by half measures, do you?"

Hill nodded. "The helicarrier is S.H.I.E.L.D's base for the time being."

"Helicarrier? Does... does that thing fly?" The plane drew to a halt and the door opened, bringing a breath of cool, fresh air.

Agent Hill just smiled as she pushed past him down the aisle. Matt hurried after her. "Hill, with my abilities do you really think it's a wise idea to have me on that thing?" he asked, somewhat concerned.

"Lynch, it is outta my hands," she said, emerging into the sunlight and making her way down the steps. "Take it up with Director Fury."

"Now that," he said, following her and raising his voice over the whining of the engines, "is a terrible idea. 'Taking things up', as you say, with Mr Fury hasn't resulted in anything good in the past. Most recently, a broken lab and several bruises and cuts. Mostly on his part, I would like to add."

Hill smirked, none too kindly, and they continued towards the terminal building. "That was the past, Mr Lynch. This is the present," she said firmly. Matt's eyes flashed dangerously.

"Don't think it's that simple," Matt said lightly. "The past isn't something you can dismiss like that," he continued, unable to keep a slight tinge of anger from his voice.

Hill looked at him sharply. "You just agreed to this mission, remember. Don't screw it up already for some kind of personal agenda."

"I do remember, even as far back as this morning. Thanks for the reminder though," he smirked. Hill let out an exasperated sigh, and turned to carry on into the building. Fury had actually sent her to recruit this guy? She needed serious words with him.

Hill led Lynch up the gangplank in a prickly silence. Matt stared around him, impressed. The whole carrier seemed to be bustling with activity – groups of sailors hurried across the deck, securing innumerable cables and lines to the metal flight deck.

As they made their way up a metal flight of stairs and out onto a gangway an alarm suddenly blared out over the flight deck, sending groups of men running to secure lines. The whole ship began to shudder, the water being churned into a milky froth at each side of the ship. Stumbling a little, Matt grabbed a hold of the railing and turned to look over the flight deck.

His mouth dropped open.

The entire vessel had lifted itself out of the sea, water pouring from its flanks as the gigantic propellers beat the air. Even though he almost knew what was coming, it was still an awe – inspiring sight.

"The shock and awe campaign is working," he said. Hill smiled a little despite her own annoyance with him, leading him up another narrow flight of stairs and onto the spacious bridge.

They stepped through the doors, just in time to hear: "...if it's connected to a satellite, it's eyes and ears for us."

"How disconcerting," Matt remarked, as heads turned their way. "I think I'm going to go Amish after all this."

"Sir, I brought Lynch," announced Hill, somewhat redundantly.

"You're late, Agent," said Fury's familiar voice. Matt stiffened, slowly turning towards the raised plinth. He locked eyes with the Director, and felt familiar stirrings of anger in his gut. He hadn't seen the man in more than two years now. Just looking at him brought back memories of their last encounter, a thing which Lynch would much rather he forgot. Flashes of memory swam in front of his eyes – a destroyed room filled with machines finished in that special scientific type of dead white, one corner of the room ripped open in a tangle of wires and tubing, the flash of white teeth stained a pinkish red from a burst lip, that familiar deep voice with a faintly mocking tone. The flash of reflected floodlights from a rotor blade, as a distant helicopter vanished into the inky sky.

"Director," Matt said, bitterness colouring his tone.

Fury looked away, finally noticing the eyes of most of the people in the room had been flicking between them. He cleared his throat, trying to defuse the tension. "Lynch," he said, with a nod. "I sincerely hope you will prove yourself useful."

Matt gave a tight – lipped smile. "As do I, Director. Every day," he said. He climbed slowly up the steps to join the group clustered around the plinth, thinking through the situation. Fury was obviously attempting to keep things civil, or as civil as Nick Fury could be. _Very well, _he thought, _I shall meet civility with civility_. _If working with Nick Fury is the only way I can help the public, then so be it._

"Returning to the matter in point," Fury said cuttingly, "we're running the facial recognition software. Hopefully-"

"It won't find him in time," Romanoff cut the Director off, ignoring his icy glare.

"You have to narrow your field. How many spectrometers do you have access to?" chimed in Banner, who had been watching Matt and Fury's interaction with keen-eyed interest.

"How many are there?" Fury asked.

Banner seemed to think for a moment, furrowed his brow, then said, "Call every lab you know. Tell them to put the spectrometers on the roof and calibrate them for gamma rays. I'll rough out a tracking algorithm, basic cluster recognition. At least we could rule out a few places." He looked up. "Do you have somewhere for me to work?"

"Agent Romanoff, would you show Doctor Banner to his laboratory please?" directed Fury.

"You're gonna love it, Doc. We got all the toys," smiled Natasha as she led Bruce deeper into the ship.

"Dismissed. Lynch, I want a word," declared Fury, as the group began to disperse. Matt slowly made his way over to the plinth. "You read the file, I presume?"

Matt, despite his pledge to remain civil towards Fury, couldn't help but feel slightly insulted. "Of course," he said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes with difficulty.

"I _was_ wondering about one thing, though," he continued, cutting off Fury as he opened his mouth. "Why do you think it's wise to bring me into this flying tin can? I get it, you need Banner because he can find this cube, but you know what could happen if I lose it." _And losing it is a distinct possibility, _he added mentally, seeing the ever-present cold glint in Fury's eye.

Fury's jaw clenched. "I was coming onto that, if you'd had the patience to hear me out," he said flatly. He turned to his screens, and pressed a few buttons. On the displays in front of them the biographies of all the Avengers, potential and current. Matt scanned them as saw his own name, with his abilities listed neatly. _Ability to absorb and manipulate electrical energy in the form of a beam or a shield. _Like an 'ability' that had more or less screwed up his life could be reduced to a single sentence.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. has had the Avengers on its books for years the potential recruits have waxed and waned depending on current events," started Fury. He slowly turned around, fixing Matt in his stare. "When we had our..." Fury almost seemed to stumble over the word, "dealings, I realised your abilities work in harmony with one other team member who came to our notice recently." He pressed a button, and one of the biographies expanded to fill the entire screen. A massively built blond man in somewhat impractical armour was shown swinging a massive hammer, sparks flying from the tip.

Matt raised an eyebrow. "Thor? How do my abilities go with Thor's?"

"I thought that would have been obvious, Lynch," Fury said in a slightly surprised tone.

"I hate to point it out to you, but I'm not a demigod."

Fury rolled his eyes... eye? "He can generate electricity. You can absorb and let out electricity."

"Ah, right. I guess I'll just stand back while he smashes things up."

Fury nodded. "If it comes to that, then yes. You let him smash." He leant forward. "Now, we haven't currently secured Thor's help, but we're searching for Loki."

Matt nodded, understanding. "Where there's one demigod, the other one will also show up?"

"Precisely. When Thor does arrive, and I have no doubts he will, he will join forces with us if all goes to plan. You'll work with him. Any questions?"

Matt turned to go, recognising the dismissal in Fury's tone. He reached the door, then turned back. "Did you tell anyone of our... dealings?"

Fury shot Matt a look. "The briefing we gave to the other potential recruits was... shall we say, unspecific in that area."

There was a moment's silence.

"Thank you." The words sounded as if they had been wrenched out from somewhere deep down against Matt's will.

Fury opened his mouth to respond, but Matt had already disappeared through the door.

**If you can spare the time, please do review!**


	3. Science!

**So... yeah. I've decided to start writing again. Maybe not the best time to get over the mountain of writer's block (woo exams!) but there we go. ****I tried to make the sciencey bits as convincing as possible.**** I hope you enjoy :)  
**

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Matt headed down the stairs deeper into the ship. He decided to push his encounter with Fury into the back of his mind, a place somewhat over-populated of late, along with the slightly disturbing thought that... perhaps Fury hadn't been so bad after all. He needed his wits about him if he was to get used to working with what seemed from the profiles to be at best dysfunctional, at worst a bunch of complete nutcases.

"Hey," came a voice from a doorway to his right. Matt looked around – he'd wandered into an unfamiliar part of the ship while absorbed in his thoughts.

Poking his head out of the door to a high tech, bells-and-whistles laboratory was Bruce Banner, still in the wrinkled clothes Matt had seen him in before.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Doc," Matt said, extending his hand.

"Lynch, is it?" he said, shaking his hand firmly.

Matt nodded. "I would say I was a huge fan of your work if I hadn't spent the last few years in a slum."

Bruce smiled. "You're saying papers on particle physics weren't all over the place?"

"Only as kindling, I'm afraid," Matt said, slightly apologetically. "Can I come in?"

"Sure, sure," said Banner, ducking back into the lab. Matt followed him, letting out a low whistle as he entered the room, filled to bursting with complex – looking equipment and touchscreens, with panoramic windows overlooking the flight deck.

"To be fair, I didn't think it would be worth much more than kindling when I wrote the thing," he said, shrugging.

"Come on, now you're just being modest," said Matt, poking at one of the touchscreens experimentally. The machine blinked an error message and let out a few irritated beeps. Matt hastily turned the screen off and sidled to the other end of the room.

"Seriously, what's the use of knowing the behaviour of positrons? I mean, who's that gonna cure?" Bruce leant back on a work surface, his face suddenly serious.

"That's why you set up the clinic?" guessed Matt.

"Partly, yeah. But now..." he trailed off.

"Now you're one of the only people who knows enough about radiation to track down this cube," finished off Matt. There was a short silence. "This is where they're gonna bring it, I guess?" he asked, eyes sweeping over the complex machinery.

"Seems that way," replied Banner, a guarded look on his face like he'd said too much.

"Because when dealing with alien technology you don't understand, the only place to be when it malfunctions that's better than miles below ground is miles above it," said Matt wryly. Bruce grinned, relieved at the change of topic.

"Let it blow," he shrugged. "I haven't had a lethal burst of radiation recently. I'm kinda missing it." Matt laughed.

"So what are all these things?" he asked, gesturing around the room. "Give me the tour."

"Sure," said Bruce, his eyes lighting up. "Well, this here is your basic hyperpure germanium semiconductor detector," he said, gesturing towards a large metal tube, tangled up in tubes which gave off a quiet, ominous hiss. "The liquid nitrogen's a pain cause it takes a while to get going, but if you need to check for gamma radiation immediately there's always the ion chamber," he said, waving dismissively at smallish yellow box sitting lopsidedly on a shelf, riddled with holes like a Swiss cheese. "Of course, this doesn't detect Cherenkov radiation," he continued enthusiastically, leading Matt around to another oddly shaped metal implement nearly the size of him. "That's why we have the Ring Imaging Cherenkov calorimeter..." he said, launching into a complex explanation that seemed to involve various subatomic particles behaving in various illogical ways.

Matt nodded like he knew what Bruce was talking about while trying to rearrange his features from their natural gormless confusion to a knowing, scientific expression. This soon made his face hurt.

The door slid open with a quiet hiss, admitting a sharply dressed man with a receding hairline and an earpiece. He quickly took stock, then strode over to Matt, extending his hand.

"I've been looking for you. Agent Coulson," he introduced himself.

"I guess you know who I am," said Matt ruefully. Coulson nodded.

"I see you and Banner are getting on," he said, glancing towards the doctor. He hadn't noticed anything, and was still waxing lyrical about particle detectors. "Are you alright, by the way?" he asked, concerned. Matt realised with a start that he was still attempting to pull the knowledgeable expression, which had turned into a sort of contorted grimace.

"Must have been something I ate," he said quickly, relaxing his face with an inward sigh of relief.

"...you haven't understood a word I've said, have you?" asked Banner, who had finished his long and convoluted explanation. "Oh, hi Phil. When did you get here?"

"I understood the first three words or so," said Matt to Bruce. "Don't worry yourself, that's better than I usually do." Bruce smiled.

Coulson cleared his throat. "I'm sorry to break up what looked like an enthralling conversation, but I've been sent by the Director to show you to your room." He gave a tight-lipped smile. Evidently he didn't appreciate being used as a bellboy.

Matt nodded. "I'll not detain you for longer, then. It's been a pleasure doctor," he said.

"Likewise," answered Bruce, already engrossed in the flashing touchscreen displays as Coulson led Matt out of the lab.

"Levels 9-13 are living quarters," explained Coulson as they headed down several flights of steps. "Leisure areas, Gyms and fitness and the like are all on Level 8." Matt nodded, feeling relieved. He really needed to clean himself up.

"How many of the Avengers are currently on station?" he asked.

"Iron Man and Thor are en route, hopefully. Doctor Banner, Agent Romanoff and the Captain are around here somewhere. Agent Barton is... compromised," Coulson finished.

"Yeah, I heard about that," Matt said, "The brief mentioned it in passing."

"It's good you've met Banner already. He can be a bit cerebral but he's a stand up guy, and there's no-one better in particle physics," commented Coulson.

"And presumably no other particle physicist who transforms into a living green wrecking ball" Matt said.

"There is that," conceded Coulson. "Have you met Captain Rogers yet?" he asked.

"I've only been here a couple of hours."

"Of course." Coulson smiled. "Well, let me just say you're lucky you have a man like that in charge," he enthused. Matt raised his eyebrows and made a polite reply, smiling inwardly. It seemed the good Captain had himself a fanboy.

As they descended further into the ship, the topics of conversation shifted – onto S.H.I.E.L.D, the team, and Coulson himself. Coulson was apparently something like the Mr-Fixit of S.H.I.E.L.D – any mission that Fury regarded as particularly sensitive was often entrusted to the agent. That was probably with good reason – he seemed a reliable sort, and remarkably open for a S.H.I.E.L.D operative. He also seemed to be something of an agony aunt for the Avengers.

In time, he led Matt down a darkened corridor. They stopped outside a wooden door that stood slightly ajar. "Welcome to your humble abode," he said, pushing open the door to reveal a spartan room with a single bed, a bedside table and a couple of bare wardrobes. The only concession to comfort was the small en suite. "Clean yourself up. You'll be woken upon any developments."

"Thanks Coulson," Matt said, distractedly. He could feel his eyelids growing heavier by the minute.

The door closed behind Coulson with a snap, his footsteps receding down the corridor. Matt sat down heavily on the bed, the silence only broken with the faint humming of machinery in the decks below. S.H.I.E.L.D had provided – there was a pile of clothes beside him on the bedside table. Matt picked through it – it was some kind of combat uniform, made of tough black material. No doubt they knew his size perfectly.

After a steaming shower to work out all the kinks of the past two years, Matt looked sadly down at the heap of old clothes on the floor. They were too caked with dirt to really use, and he knew it. He jammed them into the bin with a sigh. He was being given a new chance by S.H.I.E.L.D to help people and at least try to put his demons at rest, so he might as well be thorough about it.

He wilted into the mattress, far too tired to process the thoughts whizzing through his brain and only able to comprehend the proper bed he was finally sleeping in. He closed his eyes with a smile and was asleep in a second.

**I hate dialogue. If you have the time, please R/R!**


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